Stavanger Bay I am not the slave to history but rather the slave to ambition.

Her words are a balm to his ears, and his smile grows stronger.

Oui! Mwen menm mwen soti yon kote yo rele Donnelaith. Gen anpil moun tankou nou - frankofon, ah, menm si mwen menm mwen pa byen yon sèl tèt mwen - si w'ap chèche abitye, mwen ta san pwoblèm mwen tap eskòt ou. His words were far more fluid once he switched to his more dominant language, though Renoir still spoke in such an exuberant flurry that some words jumbled together, or were spoken so fast she might have missed them.

He did pause after to take a breath, and then realized in that moment how forthright he had sounded. Taking on yet another sheepish expression, the golden boy shrank submissively from her, and murmured, Ekskiz mwen, mwen menm ki jis .. Byen eksite al kontre lòt moun tankou tèt mwen. Nou se yon lot ra anpil.